Presently he turned to Courtlaw. Save us!" he cried, as his glance accidentally alighted on the drawing, which Winifred had dropped in her agitation. Over the mantel, set into an ornately carved panel with fluted columns at each end, was a portrait of a man on horseback. She was finally dead, going to Hell. “My God! Ann Veronica,” he said, struggling to keep his hold upon her; “my God! Tell me—tell me now—tell me you love me!” His expression was as it were rapaciously furtive. .
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